


A Uniform Appeal

by Witchy1ness



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: F/M, Irina is a total romantic, Karasuma isn't totally oblivious, OTP indulgence, or maybe he is, slight language, uniforms are sexy convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: Irina Jelović has had never had a thing for men in uniform. The old joke that the best part about a man in uniform was seeing him out of it has never been particularly meaningful to her. It isn't until Karasuma-sensei demonstrates that the best part about a manoutof uniform is seeing himinone that she thinks she might get it.
Relationships: Class 3-E & Irina Jelavić, Irina Jelavić/Karasuma Tadaomi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 153





	A Uniform Appeal

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable characters and settings are property of Yūsei Matsui, I'm just borrowing them :)
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.
> 
> (And yes, I do understand that the uniform joke I referenced actually refers to seeing a uniformed man naked, and not in a different outfit!)
> 
> "This is spoken in Japanese."  
> < This is spoken in English. >

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Irina can count on one hand the number of outfits she’s seen Karasuma- _sensei_ in.

There was the black suit he wore _every single damn day_ ; then the polo shirt and dress slacks he wore for the class trip to Okinawa (she wasn’t counting the oh-so-brief glimpse she’d caught of him in his _yukata_ during the field trip – as soon as he’d seen who’d been standing on the other side of his door he’d closed and locked it, the bastard; not that she couldn’t have gotten in anyway. The ‘just-try-it’ death-glare he’d given had made her reconsider). 

And then there were the fatigues he occasionally wore while training the students (and come to think of it, she still hadn’t gotten revenge on him for nearly drowning her during “Cops and Robbers”).

But back on the matter at hand, even adding in what he was wearing _now_ she still had a finger to spare, and she was currently using it to point accusingly at him.

“You – what – _why_?!” 

Karasuma going off to report to his mysterious bosses in both the Japanese military and government was nothing new. Aside from in-person reports, he wrote up daily reports (both for and on the students); weekly reports about his daily reports; monthly reports about his weekly reports; term reports, and things-out-of-the-ordinary reports. All of which funneled back to feed the apparently insatiable paperwork-gobbling machine that was the Japanese government.

On top of all _that_ – and this was why Irina would stick with being an assassin; if _she_ had to do even half as much paperwork, she would have conspired to overthrow the government already – he not only went to meetings disguised as “business trips” occasionally, but he also attended a big top secret meeting (that everyone knew about, who were they kidding) every month, to confer with the Anti-Koro- _sensei_ Task Force. 

All of which she’d known. She’d even covered a few of his P. E. classes the last time he’d had to go (and there was something _else_ she needed to get back at him for).

And for all that she bemoaned his sense of absolute _boring_ – in his clothes, his personality, and daily life – there was a comfort to be found in the routine that Irina didn’t even notice she enjoyed until it suffered a jarring upset.

Such as what was currently before her.

Karasuma didn’t even bother to raise an eyebrow, merely continued to regard her with that same calm expression he used to face down an unruly student.

Irina was too distracted to be annoyed about it.

She was busy taking in the sharp, unrelieved black of his military uniform. She recognized some of the medals fastidiously pinned to the dark material, cataloguing them almost absentmindedly as she flat-out ogled the man. Irina’s Intelligence had given Karasuma the rank of Captain, but the single cherry blossom over a double bar insignia showed he’d been given a promotion to Major at some point.

_Because of his work here?_

Irina doubted the man would answer her if she asked, and so she didn’t bother wasting her breath.

It wasn't so much that she found the uniform itself unsettling - she's killed her fair share of high-ranking soldiers over the years - it was more the sight of Karasuma _in_ one that was unsettling. 

And yes, technically the suit he wore every day was a uniform in and of itself, but the impression it gave off was _very_ different.

Karasuma’s every-day black suit practically reeked of Government – a glorified paper-pusher who was nonetheless the epitome of authority and coolness (at least, according to her students), with maybe a dash of super-spy.

But his black uniform – Irina couldn’t even put her finger on what, exactly, was having such an effect on her. It wasn’t the colour or the fit – both practically identical to his suit, aside from the style; it wasn’t the medals – either the number or what they were for. But taken all together, it was –

_Danger._

Irina felt a lovely thrill dance up and down her spine.

Karasuma was a highly-trained, highly-competent, very powerful man; but his day-to-day façade was typically a quiet one (excepting in extenuating circumstances), so it was easy to….not _forget_ those facts sometimes, but gloss over them.

In his current outfit, however, ‘glossing over it’ wasn’t really possible anymore. It wasn’t that he was _acting_ any differently, but it was, conversely, like walking around with a sheathed sword only to realize that suddenly the scabbard was gone and oh yeah, you _could_ kill someone walking around like that.

Irina’s not sure if Karasuma’s ever actually had to kill someone; but wearing what he is, it’s hard to deny the unmistakable edge of _don’t-fuck-with-me-you-won’t-survive-it_ he’s practically radiating.

Granted, she'd sensed that edge before - usually when he dons fatigues - but the contrast between that killing potential and the spit-and-polish image in front of her makes the feeling that much sharper.

Finally flicking her gaze back up to his, the assassin arched an eyebrow in surprise at what she could only call a _twinkle_ just lurking in the back of Karasuma’s black eyes.

But his tone was just as even as ever as he asked, “Why what?”

The finger moved from pointing accusatorily at his chest to his face.

“Do _not_ patronize me, Karasuma. You know exactly what! You aren’t, technically, part of the JAF anymore; so why are you wearing the uniform?”

She wondered if it might have something to do with the recent unceremonious and unlamented exit of one Takaoka Akira.

Karasuma’s expression – never particularly light-hearted or open at the best of times – darkened briefly.

“It has been….requested –“ in a tone of voice that suggested it was anything _but_ , “– that, given my position as representative of the Japanese Ministry of Defense in regards to the Koro- _sensei_ situation, I return to Yokota Air Base to present an update to our American allies."

Irina brightened immediately. “Americans? You’re going to be speaking with Americans?”

“You are _not_ coming.”

The finality in his voice would have irked her had she noticed it, but Irina had immediately focused on another target with laser-like precision.

“So that’s why you’re in uniform? Definitely lends more authority than if you just show up in a suit,” she mused. “If you’re going to be giving a presentation to Americans that means you’ll be speaking English, right?”

If she hadn’t been paying such close attention, she would have missed the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hesitation as Karasuma latched his briefcase closed, his expression telling her he knew _exactly_ what her endgame was.

<I am perfectly fluent in English, so that won’t be an issue,> he responded coolly, brutally cutting off vague daydreams of being dressed up and surrounded by adoring Americans who complimented her English (among other things) while Karasuma muttered jealously in a corner.

Irina only managed to keep her sweet, innocent smile through ferocious effort. <I’m sure you _are_ ,> she answered, in such patently false agreement it made a muscle in Karasuma’s cheek tic as he grabbed his briefcase with one hand and placed his military cap on with the other.

She waited until he’d left their cramped excuse for a staff room before linking her arm through his free one, continuing, <But you know what they say – practice makes perfect! And I’m sure you haven’t had much time to practice recently, what with all the work you do. I would be perfectly happy to help out –>

Karasuma’s irritated huff nearly had her digging her nails into his arm (and what a fantastically muscled arm it was, too) in annoyance.

She persisted. <I’m serious, Karasuma. You’re going to be the face of Japan – or at least the Japanese Air Force – to those men. Don’t you want to give the best impression possible?>

And Lord preserve her, but Karasuma _actually looked like he was considering it._

That in and of itself was such a shocking concession Irina nearly missed what he said next.

<To give anything less than our best impression _could_ be considered disgraceful….>

Irina’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat.

_Was he actually going to –_

<Which is why you _definitely_ aren’t coming. Bringing a known assassin would undoubtedly strain American-Japanese relations.>

Annoyed, Irina practically threw his arm from her as they reached the steps at the top of the descent.

<I could just be one of your colleagues, accompanying you because I’m fluent in English! A translator. You wouldn’t have to tell them I’m an _assassin_!> she said, exasperated.

<A translator,> he repeated skeptically, <…even though all Japanese personnel involved in this meeting are perfectly fluent in English?>

Irina winced. _Okay, so maybe I didn’t completely think that one through._

< _Well_ …> she attempted, running one perfectly manicured nail around the top button of his uniform jacket, < \- you could just tell them that we->

“No,” he said flatly, interrupting her, and Irina fought the wild impulse to stab him with the slim dagger she had up her sleeve.

Bastard would likely disarm her the second she tried to reach for it, though.

The delicious mental image that began to form at the thought was strangled in its cradle as Karasuma continued.

“Even if you could come up with a plausible reason for being there, I can’t afford to get distracted by having to correct every GI who’ll act inappropriately towards you while trying to appease the American higher-ups as well as my own superiors at the same time. You are _not_ coming.”

Clearly finished with the topic, Karasuma adjusted his hat and began the long descent, obviously impatient to be off.

“But men act inappropriately around me _all the time_!” Irina blurted to his back, bewildered, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “It’s – you know – kinda part of my job?!”

Karasuma actually paused, turning back to look at her; and even across the distance Irina felt his gaze on her like an almost physical weight, the solid blackness of his uniform making him that much more striking against the greenery of his surroundings.

One heartbeat turned into two, and then he turned back and vanished down the mountain, leaving Irina standing at the top, heart beating wildly and with a tiny, precious feeling beginning to bloom in the middle of her chest.

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Omake:

“Um, Bitch _-sensei_?”

Megu Kataoka swallowed a sigh as a pair of sparkling blue eyes eventually focused on her, scrambling for something to actually say.

Given how lost in delusional daydreams their teacher had appeared to be, Kataoka hadn’t actually expected the woman to acknowledge her.

A wave of curiosity swept through class 3E as the other students began to register that their teacher – who’d been sitting in a misty-eyed daze for the past twenty-three minutes, instead of teaching English like she should have been – had apparently come back (however briefly) to Earth.

“Aren’t you a little insulted?” she finally blurted out, “I mean, Karasuma- _sensei_ practically insinuated –“

She was interrupted by Karma’s loud snort.

“Of course she’s not insulted,” he said loudly, clearly bored as he balanced his chair on its hind legs. 

“Bitch- _sensei_ wanted to go so she could dress up and flaunt herself in front of all those American GIs and make Karasuma _-sensei_ jealous; only he basically up and admitted he would, therefore –”

He waved a hand lazily in their teacher’s general direction, and given how red Bitch- _sensei_ ’s face got, it was clear Karma had hit the nail on the head.

“Maybe he only said it to prevent you from coming along?”

There were muffled groans across the classroom at Ritsu’s innocent query, though none blamed the AI for asking it.

When they’d gotten the whole story, it had honestly been the first thought of more than one of the students that that was the _exact_ reason Karasuma- _sensei_ had said what he’d said, but –

It was clear Kataoka wasn’t the only one to see the brief flash of hurt cross their teacher’s face before faked anger replaced it, as Kurahashi practically popped out of her seat.

“I don’t believe that!” the petite girl blurted out, “Karasuma- _sensei_ never says what he doesn’t mean – er, never means what he doesn’t say, um –“

“Never says what he doesn’t mean,” Nagisa straightened out.

“But he didn’t really _say_ it, did he?” Karma pointed out, always out to stir the pot. “He just… _insinuated_.”

Well _that_ set the match to the tinder, trapping their teacher and a good portion of the class as conversation devolved into what Karasuma- _sensei_ may or may not have meant.

The rest put away their English textbooks or took out other homework.

Clearly, English class wasn’t happening today.

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End file.
